I've Loved You Before
by ChelsieSouloftheAbbey
Summary: Fic request, based upon the idea that true soul mates will continue to come into one another's lives. Song title is in my Spotify playlist "Chelsie Potpourri" - it's my favorite Melissa Etheridge song.
1. 30 BC, Egypt

**A/N: Fic request in which Charles and Elsie keep coming back together and what would happen if they only realized it. Give the Melissa Etheridge song a listen, it's the basis for where the story starts and how it ends. (N.B. I'm a reincarnationist, and realize you may not be. No offense intended here at all if that's not your thing. It's important to note that reincarnation theory involves _souls_ , not _gender_ , thus the main characters in this story are both male.)**

 **Reviews welcome! The entire fic should be up in a couple of days, sorry for the first chapters being so short.**

 **Cheers!**

 **CSotA**

* * *

 _30 B.C., Egypt_

The sound of the approaching army was faint; everyone knew they had less than an hour before the horses crested the hill. Sunlight gleamed off of their helmets, swords, and shields, off of the chain-mail of the leaders who sat atop horses, off of the horses' helmets themselves. The men stood stock still, not moving a hair's width out of formation. Their cohort held 475 men, all stood at attention awaiting the call to charge.

In the exact middle of the formation a soldier looked to his side, catching his lover's terrified glance. One wasn't supposed to be terrified if one was a Roman soldier; nevertheless, what should or should not happen matters not when one is minutes from likely death. This battle with Antony's forces had been fierce, yet their cohort hadn't seen any bloodshed before today. They were all too well aware that they _would_ – too much bloodshed, they knew – but that was the sacrifice one made for one's empire. The only question was _when._

The next hour seemed to pass in a handful of seconds. Suddenly swords were drawn, battle cries called and heard, commands sent, but their small cohort was no match for the thousands of soldiers that poured over the hill like water. Blood flowed and ran like rivulets across the field, seeping into the grass and earth along its way.

The sound of gasping – _NO!_ – and the feel of his knees on the ground, getting wet and slipping, that sensation suddenly too far away to make a dent in his consciousness. The feel of a body in his arms, the heat from the tears falling down his cheeks as the sounds of screams and anger and the clashing of metal passed through his head almost unacknowledged.

"Stay with me," he pleaded softly, but it was too late. He had barely a chance to share one last, powerful look with those shockingly blue eyes before the darkness finally encompassed them both.


	2. 1311 AD, France

**Reviews welcome! :)**

 **CSotA**

* * *

 _1311, France_

The crowd that gathered was enormous, and she noticed that moving side-to-side was next to impossible. Loathe to draw attention to the fact that she was a _woman_ was underneath her hooded cloak – _at least, not yet_ – she roughly shoved her way through the swarm of bodies until she made it to the front.

There he stood, awaiting the fate that they had only ever feared in their deepest nightmares, amidst over fifty of his brethren. They were defenders of Christians, protectors of pilgrims. Originally a small band of knights, they had grown in number and power and, a hundred years later, their fraternity of thousands controlled the flow of money to the most powerful of men; yet here they stood, tied around the stake and about to be burned, forced under the most brutal torture to confess sins that none of them had ever committed.

 _His_ imprisonment, however, was based upon what they considered _proof_ , and it had come from the last witness she'd ever have expected. The man she'd come to see today, the one bound before her – her _friend_ , nothing more – had been accused of being in the woods at night, a screaming and bloodied woman underneath him. That part, at least, was true. The witness had brought charges of sacrifice, of devil worship, and more. That part, in its entirety, was a pack of lies. And now months of imprisonment had ended at last and the three of them were here to meet one final time: the knight by right, the woman who'd longed to be his wife but knew she never could, and the man who had sealed their fate with a handful of hateful words.

She flashed back to the day she'd met this man, truly her knight but without the armor. She'd been cold, huddled under a tree hoping for shelter from the snow, terrified as a strange man approached. Only when he got closer did she notice that he was younger than she'd originally thought, his face smooth, his eyes showing only kindness. He saw a young waif, clearly with child, and he startled at how she grasped furtively for the coat he offered. He reached into the pocket and offered her the crust of bread he'd saved, knowing at a glance it must have been days since her last meal, the only brightness in her at all coming from the sparkling, somehow familiar eyes; a friendship formed.

When it was her time, she'd forced him to take her deep into the forest so that no one would be near enough to hear the baby's cries, but the cries that echoed out that cursed night were only her own. She remembered the mumbles of his prayers, the tears on his cheeks as he begged his God to save her life that night since He had already claimed the life of the babe. The knight buried the body on the spot where she'd lain bleeding only hours before, at her request, leaving a stone to mark the site.

Neither of them had suspected they'd been seen, or that it would have been her brother, Peter, who'd found them; her brother, the one from whom she'd run so long ago, father of the babe, hunting her down until he'd found new home at last, like some twisted, prodigal son returning with his own form of hell to haunt her again.

She pulled herself from her memory as she smelled the burning of the torch. The last thing she remembered was fighting to grasp his eyes with her own – his deep, dark, soulful eyes that had shown her more love than she'd ever had any right to accept. Their gazes connected for the briefest of moments before he and his brothers were consumed in flames. Her scream echoed in their silence as she revealed herself, allowing herself to be captured, the fugitive woman who would give herself up because she no longer had the will to live.


	3. 1867, Scotland

**A/N: This one's a bit longer, but the story has entered into "present life" status from this point forward. Thanks for the reviews that have already come in, I'm so glad everyone's enjoying this story so far. The entire story should be about 10K words, with two or three more chapters after this. This part is a drabble I posted on tumblr a couple weeks back.**

 **Thanks again for reviews and for the reblogs on tumblr!**

 **CSotA**

* * *

 _ **1867, Scotland**_

For the first time in two weeks it was a rainless, breezy, beautiful day. The grasses seemed to be rejoicing in this change of weather, their beaten down blades beginning to rise toward the sun with happiness as the gentle winds began to dry the sodden ground. The air smelled different, as often happened after the deep cleanse of rain. In short, it was a wonderful day to get out of the house and explore the land.

Elsie was careful as she climbed toward the summit of the biggest outcropping of rocks on the shoreline, knowing all too well how slippery the rocks could be after the storms had rolled through. She was about a mile from home, but that wasn't unusual in itself. The sounds of other children and a couple of adults milling about on the beach, searching through the treasures washed up by the sea, reassured her that safety was near. Elsie loved sitting and watching the tides recede after a storm and she'd been sure to get her chores done early so that Mam and Da would allow her time to play by the water.

Suddenly a scuffle broke out on the beach, and Elsie glanced over to the other children and took the time to look at each carefully. Yes, she saw the ones she expected to be there: Davey, Niall and Jack, the McDonnell boys from the neighboring farm … and then there was another. Tall and lanky, and looking _quite_ out of place, this fourth boy was one she'd never seen around before. After a moment, Elsie realized he was being taunted by the McDonnells – something which had happened to _her_ only once, just last month in fact. Da had taught her well, had taught her to defend herself despite her young age, and Elsie was smarter, quicker and sneakier than all three of _those_ boys combined. Listening, but unable to hear exactly what they were saying because of the crashing of the waves, Elsie maneuvered herself to climb back down the rocks and made her way slowly back up onto the beach.

"Give it back!" came the distinctly not-Scottish voice of the stranger.

"Make me!" called Niall, the middle child, waving something in the air. A red-headed boy of six, he was short for his age but made up for his small stature with an uncanny mean streak.

"Niall, you'll get in trouble with Mam again," warned his older brother, Davey.

Elsie stood a good distance away, watching the scene unfold in front of her. _Niall is going to get the switch again if he's not careful_ , she thought. _And why does Davey let him DO these things, anyhow?_ She shook her head, watching Jack back away from the entire scene; he was afraid of his brother, all right, and Elsie was certain that Davey was a little afraid of Niall as well.

She made her decision, approaching the boys from the back so as to stay out of Niall's line of vision. She could see more clearly now the item Niall held in his hand, something that looked mysteriously like … _a doll?_

Davey and Jack finally noticed Elsie approaching, but she put her finger to her lips as a silent warning. Neither of them wished to aggravate her so they pretended they'd seen nothing at all. They knew she was fiery like her Mam, quick and short-tempered like her Da, and something to behold when she was upset. The boys knew in an instant that the events before them were about to become _infinitely_ more interesting.

"Please," came the unknown boy's voice, cracking as he spoke. "I don't want to hurt you, I just want it back."

"Ha, that's rich! _You_ don't want to hurt _me_ , is that it?" Niall sneered. "I'd like to see you try, a scrawny thing such as yourself. Don't your parents _feed_ you?" He ran backwards, not wanting to take his eyes off of the stranger for a second. Niall was strong and mean, but he wasn't stupid. The boy _was_ unknown, and _was_ tall; better to be safe than sorry.

Suddenly, the taller boy noticed someone behind Niall, and he stopped short. _A girl? She'd better move out of the way, he's going to trample her!_

"Hey, watch out!" he called, but it was too late. Elsie had taken a running start and tackled Niall from behind, sending him sprawling face-first into the wet sand. She took her fists and pounded him a few times on the back, shouting, "He said _give … it … BACK!_ " Elsie ripped the doll out from Niall's hands and climbed off of him. As he started to stand she turned back and kicked his shin for good measure.

"Go on, get out of here!" she shouted.

Niall scrambled up and hobbled over to his brothers, turning back at Elsie and spit in her direction. "You'll pay for that, you brat!" he shouted, a nasty look on his face, but he knew it was an empty threat.

"Yes, I'm sure," she replied with a sneer of her own. "Just like the last time – you're lucky I didn't throw a rock at your head _again_ , Niall McDonnell!"

The strange boy had no idea what to make of the scene playing out before him. He was embarrassed to realize he'd been crying in front of the other boys, and ashamed that he hadn't charged this Niall himself, but this little spitfire of a girl scared him more than all three boys combined.

Just then Elsie turned to him and her face became sweet in the flash of a second. "I'm sorry about them," she said quietly. "Davey and Jack are alright, but Niall has always been a bully." Then, brushing off the doll, she handed it to him. "Here, I think this is yours?"

The boy nodded, reaching down to take it from her. "Yes, thank you."

"A bit strange, a big boy like you carrying a doll," Elsie said, head cocked sideways, wondering as she uttered the words if her Mam would think her rude for saying them.

"Yes … well … my Ma made it for me, but she died last month and …" he trailed off.

"Oh, I see," Elsie said softly. "It must be like hugging her when you have it, then. I've a dolly my Mam made for me, and it smells just like her." She smiled, then stuck her hand out awkwardly toward the boy. "My name's Elspeth. I live on the farm that borders the churchyard. Who are you?"

The boy took her hand and shook it firmly. "I've been visiting from England for the summer, staying at my grandfather's place, which I think is a couple of properties over from yours," he said. "My name's Charlie."


	4. 1881 - 1886, Blackpool and London

**A/N: Okay, first of all, you people are AMAZING! Such lovely reviews, they've made my heart sing. To the guest reviewers, I cannot reply personally to you but I do read every word you leave. To the person who commented on Elsie's full name - I agree, I _much_ prefer the idea of her being an Elisabeth, but I needed Elspeth for a reason.**

 **This may be the last chunk to post tonight. The rest of the story is 3x longer than these four combined, and I want to work with it a bit more.**

 **As always, drop me a line and let me know what you think! If I can sneak _one_ more chunk in tonight, I shall.**

 **xx**

 **CSotA**

* * *

1883-1886: Blackpool & London

 _Whoever would have thought I'd have become mother at the age of eighteen to a boy of nine,_ she thought. _Bloody unbelievable, and a miracle he's survived this long with that mouth! What a miserable child._

Elsie shook her head as she carried the washing out to hang it on the line, mindful of the small kitten who always seemed to be underfoot at the worst of times. She looked off into the distance, checking for rain even though she could tell from the smell of the air that it would not arrive today. She emptied her basket and headed back into the house, hoping dinner would all come out as planned. She had never been any great cook, but she was improving since having married Joe.

As she was peeling the potatoes for their dinner Elsie took a moment to remember how she'd gotten to where she now stood. She had dreamed of a way out of her home since her parents died, leaving her and Becky with their spiteful, vicious aunt three years ago, and she'd taken Joe willingly when he'd proposed. He was about twelve years her senior and he made it clear that their marriage was to be one of convenience and perhaps a little gentle affection, nothing more, which was truly fine with her. She was fairly sure he'd lost his will to even try to have more children when his beloved Ivy had succumbed to pneumonia and died so suddenly last fall. But Peter needed a mother, and Joe needed someone to help work the farm, and so Elsie moved Becky in with a neighbor, a kindly midwife with whom Becky had bonded instantly, and she and Joe married the next week. She never looked back, content with the life she'd chosen. She had her own room for the first time in her life, a comfortable bed, a roof over her head, food on the table, and a sense of purpose.

Elsie tried to dig deep down and find some sympathy for Peter, knowing the pain losing one's mother could cause in a person's heart. But he was just so _mean_ all the time, nothing like either of his parents at all.

She decided to let it drop from her mind for now, to not dwell on what she clearly could not fix. She figured if she could survive until Peter made it out of the house, life could be grand indeed.

oOoOoOoOoOo

It was on their fifth wedding anniversary that Joe surprised her with a large box wrapped with a red ribbon. Elsie didn't know what to say; other than a small gift under the tree at Christmas, they never bought each other gifts at all. She opened the ribbon slowly, giving Joe a smile and a puzzled look, and found … a dress, clearly new and not made by the kindly Mrs. Wilson down the lane. No, he'd purchased this one in town, and she knew as she lifted it from the paper that she'd look _stunning_ in it. It was pale blue with contrasting flowers in midnight blue that were embroidered all along the edge of the skirt.

"Whatever is it for?" she asked with a whisper, still in awe of the extravagance of the gift. They weren't poor but money was often tight, and she knew he must have saved over months for this.

"We're going to London next week, to see Roger." Joe's brother had been asking them to come for months, and Elsie was thrilled that Joe had finally accepted the offer to stay with Roger and his family in their new home.

Elsie nodded, still confused. "Yes, I remember. But the dress …?"

"He's told me they'd like to take us out when we're there, to celebrate our anniversary. And Peter will be traveling with us as well. You'll be happy to hear that Roger has found him a position as a hall boy in a rather posh home. The money he'll send home will do us all good, and he is eager to leave. Would you be able to pack his things?"

Elsie's eyes widened at that – she couldn't believe her luck. "Of course. I'm sure he'll do well," was what she said aloud. She grasped Joe's hand, thanking him for the beautiful dress, and he gave her an uncustomary kiss on the cheek in response.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Eight days later, Elsie found herself seated between Joe and her brother-in-law, laughing uproariously at the act that was performing on music hall stage. It was the first time she and Joe had been to London and the first time they'd been to see _any_ form of entertainment that wasn't happening in a church basement. Elsie wished Roger's wife had come with them, but she was home nursing a daughter that had come down with flu. Apprehensive about the evening out at first, Elsie soon realized that she, Joe and Roger blended in perfectly with the crowd, and she finally began to relax and enjoy herself. Joe and Roger _were_ drinking ale in rather large amounts, she noticed, but neither of them were mean or overly loud when drinking and so she simply ignored it.

Having lived a fairly simple farm life forever, the entire experience of a music hall was new to Elsie: the big stage, the lights, the music, the _crowds_. Elsie wasn't sure she'd ever been in a room with that many people before! The opening act was some kind of comedy routine with one poor man seemingly the brunt of all the second man's jokes – that is, she thought, until the very end, when the first upstaged his partner somehow. She wasn't sure if it was just part of the performance or if someone had made a mistake, but it didn't matter because the crowd loved it. The act that followed featured two singers – _sisters, from the looks of them_ – and while Joe was enthralled, Elsie found them rather boring compared to the performance that had preceded them.

At the close of the final curtain, Roger led them to the stage door, hoping to chat with of one of the singers whom he'd met twice before. Elsie was rather miffed at this, knowing full well that had his wife been with them this evening they'd have gone straight home. Nevertheless, it wasn't her place to say anything, and while that didn't often stop her she didn't want to embarrass Joe. They waited for at least half an hour, Roger insisting the entire time that the women would surely come out to greet those who gathered, maybe sign an autograph or two. Finally the door opened, but the person who exited wasn't one of the sisters at all but rather the taller, darker man of the comedy act, portions of his costume hanging all around him: a bowtie askew, false mustache dangling from one end and covering his mouth, wig not quite set properly atop his head. He glanced through the crowd as though trying to determine the easiest means of escape, and his eyes fell upon Elsie's face for about a second, seemingly not registering her presence (or anyone else's, for that matter). Elsie looked at him for a moment, her head tilted slightly, a faint memory niggling at the back of her brain. She felt as if she'd seen him somewhere before, but … she couldn't pull it to the front of her mind.

"Elsie, what is it?" Joe asked.

"I'm not sure," she replied. "I feel as though … oh, never mind, how would I ever know that man?"

Joe smiled lovingly at her. "Unless you've been sneaking out to the music halls behind my back, I am sure you're mistaken."

Just then the man turned – perhaps having overheard the conversation, perhaps not – and caught Elsie's glance again. She lowered her gaze to the ground, embarrassed to have been caught staring at him, and he moved quickly through the crowd, mumbling something. Elsie thought she caught a name … _Agnes_ , perhaps.

She had no way of knowing it, but as soon as he'd caught a glimpse of her eyes staring at him from the crowd, he recognized her from … somewhere. He couldn't remember exactly, figured he must be wrong and thought it was just his mind playing tricks on him. The entire night seemed to be some kind of comedy of errors – first the act getting flubbed, then finding Alice and Grigg together, backstage, in a decidedly much-too-compromising situation, and then thinking he spotted someone he knew in a city where he'd made it a point not to meet anyone.

 _You're losing it, Charlie old boy. Time to pack it in and find a new career._


	5. 1908 - 1922: Yorkshire

**A/N: This is the conclusion of our little ficlet, and it's quite a bit longer at around 8,000 words. I was going to split it but couldn't do so in a good way, so here you go. I realize that toward the end some echoes of canon are misplaced in time - had to do it, though.**

 **Reincarnation theory is fascinating, in my opinion. I would like to note that most hold the belief that soul mates revisit one another in many different relationship forms, so although I've got them in significant other pairs in this story that's not always the case - they could be grandparent/grandchild, best friends, teacher/student, etc. There is no "rule."**

 **Enjoy! Please do leave a review and let me know what you've thought. Thank you in particular to Guest reviewers that I cannot reply to via FF, and also to those of you that reblog my stories on tumblr. It means a lot!**

 **xx**

 **CSotA**

* * *

 _ **"Love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies."**_

* * *

 _ **1908 - 1922, England**_

Elsie reached up to knock on the servants' door. Her suitcase was clutched tightly in one hand as she attempted to shake off some of the rain covering her coat and hat. The last thing she wanted to do was show her face for the first time at her new job only to pool a mess of rainwater on the floor the moment she set foot in the place.

"Whoever could that – _oh_! Do come in, it's raining _sheets_ out there!" came a harried voice, an arm grasping Elsie's elbow as she was all but hauled through the door. "You must be the new head housemaid!" Elsie nodded, stunned for a moment as she steadied herself and removed her lip from under her teeth where she'd trapped it ... again. "I'm Sarah, just started a month ago," the girl said. "I'm pleased to meet you …"

"Elsie Hughes," she supplied. "My goodness, another new hire? Is that sort of thing usual for this house?"

"Not really, but Her Ladyship plans to open the place up to more entertaining in the next year and so they've bumped up the numbers a bit. Almost everyone here is relatively new save the housekeeper, butler, and cook. Come on, I'll show you to Mrs. Williams's office, she'll be thrilled to see you've arrived."

Elsie followed the girl down the hall. _Cheerful young thing,_ she thought bemusedly. _I wonder, are they ALL like that? Likely not_ … _that would be too easy._

Sarah knocked on the partly-opened door. "Come in!" came a light voice from within.

"Elsie Hughes, I presume?" asked Mrs. Williams, who crossed the room and shook Elsie's hand. "I'm so glad you've arrived. Sit have some tea, hmm? I'd like to hear all about your trip."

 _And all about ME, I bet._ "Thank you, Mrs. Williams."

And so Elsie sat and chatted with the housekeeper, thinking that in the last home where she'd been employed the housekeeper would _never_ have entertained a subordinate in her office with a lovely pot of tea and a few biscuits. Being fairly good at reading people and situations, Elsie could tell at once that Mrs. Williams was a kind woman. _Tired, though_ , Elsie thought. _I give her another year at best … ah, yes, of course. THAT'S what this chat is really about ... She wants to see what she's got to work with._

The housekeeper volleyed a strange variety of questions at Elsie but was gifted at weaving them into something that sounded like (and, in part, _was_ ) genuine interest in the younger woman's life. The answers that Elsie gave told her superior a great deal, primarily how Elsie dealt with being in situations where constantly changing information was being thrown her way. Mrs. Williams was attentive to how Elsie spoke – her tone, the level of her voice, and so on – and she observed that Elsie seemed quite well-educated. When Mrs. Williams asked Elsie to discuss why she felt she'd be effective as head housemaid in a place as large as Downton, she was happy to learn that Elsie was all in favor of firm rules and structure tempered with just a little extra care when it was needed, particularly toward the younger staff.

 _Firm rules ... well, I like the sound of that. And she's KIND, too, this one ... definitely got the qualifications of a good housekeeper,_ Mrs. Williams thought, her retirement looming within the next year. _Yes, thank heaven for you, Elsie Hughes – you've got it all._

oOoOoOoOoOo

Elsie settled into her new room nicely after leaving Mrs. Williams to get on with her day. _Head housemaid for now and, if I read the woman's "interview" correctly, perhaps housekeeper just around the corner._

She began to unpack, once again regretting that she'd never brought along a photograph of Joe, but the more she'd thought on it the more it seemed it would be counterproductive to moving on with her life. She'd taken her wedding ring off the day she buried him, tucking it into his coffin before saying good-bye one last time. They'd had a happy life together, despite what others would say; it had been devoid of passion, but Elise had been loved and respected by her husband. He'd never raised a hand to her, he didn't stray, and he was a hard worker for all the years she'd known him. She was old enough to know that she'd had a very successful marriage indeed.

And now she was alone, save for Becky. When she'd left the farm she'd known she wouldn't be able to bear being _Mrs. Burns_ anymore. It would always be a reminder that she was a widow, and Elsie didn't want that to define who she really _was_ in other people's eyes. Peter had insisted on moving back to the farm when Joe died and, really, what would Elsie have done with the place anyhow? She certainly couldn't have _worked_ it all herself, and so she made the decision to go into service as a housemaid. She moved Becky to a medical facility located by the sea, a newer place that looked more like a house than a hospital, and she sent a check to them every month instead of to the neighbor in Blackpool. There was some money put away, because she and Joe had been frugal over the years, but Elsie soon realized that she'd eventually have to find a better paying job than the first one she'd landed. Downton was miraculously delivered into her lap; it was a better opportunity than she'd even _dreamed_ of getting and she was quite pleased with herself for having won it. So, once again, she had packed her things, deciding to never look back.

The thing was, she never expected the _past_ to come looking for _her_.

oOoOoOoOoOo

"Mr. Carson, this is Elsie Hughes, the new head housemaid." Mrs. Williams had insisted that Elsie meet her in the housekeeper's parlor before the servants' dinner so that she could properly introduce her to the butler.

"I'm pleased to make your acquaintance, Elsie," he said.

"Thank you, Mr. Carson, it's a pleasure to meet you as well." She offered her hand to him and was mildly surprised that he reached out to give it a rather firm shake before letting go. Her first impression of the man was that he seemed to simply ooze tradition and style, with a little glimmer in his eyes that she'd barely spotted before he tucked it safely away once again. She realized immediately that this man wasn't just _a butler_ , he was _The Butler of Downton Abbey_. Very proper, immaculately dressed, clearly in charge.

"Mrs. Williams has told me your previous employer spoke rather highly of you – I hope you are able to live up to your reputation." With that, Mr. Carson extended a hand to the door, inviting the women to precede him to the table so that the meal could begin.

 _I hope so, too,_ Elsie thought apprehensively. _Because HE will surely notice if I do not!_

oOoOoOoOoOo

In her first months at Downton Elsie barely saw the butler during the day, a fact mostly due to their stations within the household and that they were rarely in the same place at the same time. They would often converse during meals spent at the servants' table, however, about a variety of topics, the most common being the literature that each of them was reading at that time. The butler had been pleased to find Elsie well-read and well-educated, and he'd spoken with Lord Grantham about allowing her to sign out books from the library. Mr. Carson had the feeling that something was _familiar_ about Elsie, but he just could not quite grasp what it was. After a few months he realized that he felt a kinship with her of sorts, but _that_ was something he would _never_ share aloud for fear of it showing impropriety and favoritism. He had tried to observe her inconspicuously when she was discussing this character or that story line, but he would shy away more often than not when she seemed to notice his extra attention. _It must not bother her much, though, as she hasn't mentioned it. Still, better to be careful._

September came, and along with it Mrs. Williams's retirement and the expected promotion of Elsie to housekeeper. For the past few months, Elsie had been growing rather fond of Downton's stately butler. She was looking forward to having more of a partnership with him below stairs, working side-by-side with a combination of his tradition and love for the family mixed with her natural abilities as a leader and caretaker. He seemed blustery and set in his ways most days but, every now and again, Elsie would glimpse a spark of something … _different_ … about him, a hint that there was more that lay under the butler persona than he let on. She'd tried asking the cook about it once but the woman refused to give up any details unless they could be exchanged for the key to the store cupboard. Elsie decided it didn't matter quite _that_ much that she unearth Mr. Carson's secrets if, indeed, there were any to be had, thinking she'd be best to let the matter drop.

 _For now._

oOoOoOoOoOo

 _Mr. Carson, collapsing at dinner! Whatever next?_

The fact that everyone had more work nowadays due to the war effort was bad enough, but having Downton's very _butler_ on bed rest was almost more than Elsie could take. She somehow found the strength to handle managing the entire downstairs _and_ seeing to Mr. Carson's care, but it certainly wasn't easy. She would pop in to check on him between meals and she had also decided she'd spend the night in the chair in his room, the door open, just in case anything happened to him in the middle of the night. She didn't even think to ask anyone about this, she merely informed Mrs. Patmore and Anna of where she'd be in case there were some sort of emergency for which her presence would be required. She expected a good deal of teasing from the cook, truth be told, but it seemed everyone's normal cheer had dissipated into an aura of apprehension. War had already taken its toll on everyone's stamina, and now this. _Thank God it wasn't a true heart attack._

Elsie sat and watched him sleep, thankful that he'd finally managed to nod off for a bit. She hadn't actually _told_ Mr. Carson she would be spending the night in his room, knowing full well how that would set him off completely, but figured if he happened to wake and find her there she'd just explain then. She found herself caring more and more about the man every day, and while the feelings originally unsettled her she'd somehow found a way to hide them in the presence of others, particularly _him_. She had a vague suspicion that, of all the people downstairs, Daisy might have once picked upon something. Then again, the girl was often scattered and probably figured it was just her imagination.

As she watched Mr. Carson rest, Elsie felt an unexpected sense of peace settle somewhere deep inside of her. She thought it strange, really, as he was still rather ill; the feeling reminded her of when she'd been married, of times she'd cared for Joe when _he'd_ been ill or injured. And, really, she and Mr. Carson _were_ rather like a married couple in many ways. They had a house to run, worked quite well together, had "children" to watch out for. She knew he considered her more of a friend than anyone else on the staff, due to the importance of his position in the household but also due to the fact that Mr. Carson was a rather shielded, private man. Elsie wondered why that was, why he felt the need to be so protective of himself, of his feelings for others. She recognized that he had those feelings because she'd seen flashes of it when something was wrong with one of the family and, generally, if something happened to upset one of the staff. She pondered that for a while, chewing on it, analyzing it, until she drifted off into a restless sleep, haunted by nightmares with fires and death and darkness, waking with a start and trying to grab hold of the thing that seemed to be lurking in the dream, only to have it vanish without a trace.

"Mrs. Hughes?" came the scratchy voice from the bed. "Whatever are you doing here?"

She looked at him, firmly expecting to have him tear into her for the impropriety of her being at his bedside. She prepared her most no-nonsense, no-point-in-arguing tone … and found him looking at her with eyes filled with raw emotion. She got lost in them for a moment, and saw some sort of … _something_ … flicker in them before he hid it in a flash.

"I was sleeping," she answered quiety. "I had the most awful dream – I'm sorry if I disturbed you." _Perhaps it's best not to discuss my being here at all._ "How do you feel?"

Mr. Carson was about to admonish her for her improper presence at his bedside, but the sweetness he found in her eyes rendered anything he had to say obsolete. He realized that he felt comforted by her presence, cared for in a way that was perhaps all too improper but that was, in some deep, hidden corner of his heart perfectly _welcome_.

"No, you didn't disturb me at all, but I could do with a glass of water if you don't mind," he said, pointing in the general direction of the nightstand. "I had a bit of a horrid dream myself, I think, but I can't recall anything about it at the moment except that I was rather … _terrified_ , I think would be the word."

She rose and filled his glass, and he noticed for the first time that she was in her nightclothes, a long braid falling over her shoulder and across her bosom. The thought threw him into uncharted territory, poked at feelings that he'd not thought of since his courtship of Alice. Seeing her like that was _familiar_ somehow, tugging at his mind and making him feel as though they'd shared moments like this before. He knew it was ridiculous, but it was hardly the first time he'd experience the sensation. He couldn't help it, he just felt like he'd known Elsie Hughes for many more years than she'd been at the Abbey.

Elsie handed him the glass, and he brushed her fingers with his own as he grabbed it. The feeling was like an electric shock and, in that moment, her gasp was drowned out by his own. He met her eyes once again and locked his gaze on hers, and suddenly it all clicked into place. He knew _exactly_ where he'd met her before, and he could tell from her slightly taken-aback look that she hadn't made the connection yet. A million thoughts flooded his mind: the spray of the sea, the smell of the air, the warmth of that summer; his sorrow after losing his mother and his grandparents who'd been inconsolable, and the well-loved doll; the young girl … _Elspeth … of course – "Elsie" must be a nickname_ … and the instant connection they'd made during those precious moments when they'd met.

Elsie backed away quickly, a bit frightened by the look she'd just seen in Mr. Carson's eyes. As well-read as Elsie was, she couldn't quite find the right word to describe it. It seemed to be some strange cross between fear, awe, recognition … and _fondness_? And then it was gone so quickly that she thought at once she'd imagined it all.

oOoOoOoOoOo

" _It is not merely the end of a war, but the dawn of a new age."_

Elsie stood there, listening to Lord Grantham uttering the words, and kept her breath held securely for fear of losing control of her emotions. This war, all the fear and injury and death, and for what? And William … She let her gaze fall over to Daisy, who was holding up rather admirably in Elsie's opinion. _They may not have been married for years, but a loss is a loss … and at such a young age …_ She sighed imperceptibly. Well, no one but _Mr. Carson_ would hear it, and she was alright with that. Just then she felt his left arm ever-so-lightly touch her right, the slightest of movements but one that he knew she'd feel. It was _not_ a slip of control, she knew – never from _him_ – but rather an offer of support. She knew he'd sensed that she needed it, and somehow it calmed her instantly and enabled her to put her emotions in check once more. She wasn't sure how it was that Mr. Carson could have that effect on her but she was eternally grateful for his uncharacteristic show of feeling. _The dawn of a new age indeed._

As His Lordship finished speaking and the staff was dismissed, heading away in their own rank-and-file formation back to the servants' area, Elsie hazarded a glance back at Mr. Carson and found herself unable to read his expression. That was fairly unusual, really, as they were getting better and better at understanding one another without actually _speaking_ , but she had the feeling that he had something on his mind, that his ever-attentive brain had actually been elsewhere and not really on the words that had been spoken.

 _Curious_ , she thought, but she chose to let it drop.

oOoOoOoOoOo

 _The "Cheerful Charlies." In London. Oh … oh, my GOD._ She attempted to control her facial expressions, which were undoubtedly changing lightning-fast, and hoped beyond hope that he took her strange look as an outward representation of finding his confession merely _odd_.

"Mr. Carson, we all have chapters of our lives we'd rather forget," was what she said out loud. Or something like that. She was having rather a hard time focusing at the moment.

"It's embarrassing, telling you this," he confessed, his eyes on the floor in front of where he was seated. "I'm not quite sure why I _am_ telling you, really, except that it felt dishonest not to when others know."

Elsie had nothing to say to that. She knew all about keeping portions of one's life from someone that you, well, _cared about_. And she _did_ care about this man – a great deal, she'd come to realize – his health scare had solidified that in her brain and in her heart ages ago. And she felt like he cared for _her_ as well, but that somehow his caring was _different_ now. She'd been aware of it since the war, aware that something inside the man had changed. She couldn't put her finger on it, but it was as though something about how he _looked_ at her had changed, how he _spoke_ to her, the timbre of his voice softening when they had their little moments alone at the end of the day, how he'd seek out her advice on little things now when he'd not have done so in the past. It was all of those things that were noticed by no one else except Mrs. Patmore, and only then because she'd known the man for ages.

Elsie hazarded a glance up at his face, his eyes finally meeting hers, and she spent a moment truly looking _into_ the beautiful, brownish-gray, dark orbs for the first time ever. Some part of her that lay in the distant recesses of her mind worried about the impropriety of it all, but the rest of her didn't care. _Yes, this is surely the same man from all those years ago, at the theater in London that night with Joe._ Her "other life," as she thought of it, coming back to haunt her.

And what force on Earth would see fit to place Charles Carson back in her path once again? What were the chances, really, that fate would have him reappear _now_? _But d_ _oes it really matter? We're HERE now._ She doubted he'd remember a fleeting encounter with one patron outside of a theater where he'd spent countless nights performing.

The most significant bit for Elsie was learning that this meant only one thing, one thing which explained so very much about the man before her: Charles Carson had his heart broken years ago. She tried to pull the name of the woman from her mind, she remembered thinking he'd muttered it that night, but it had been so long and she couldn't recall the details of the night anymore. She had wondered back then if it were one of the sisters performing that evening; it would certainly explain why something seemed to have happened just before he'd exited the theater. _Of course, that's not to say she was the only lady he'd ever courted, Elsie._

Charles found himself looking at the housekeeper with a strange feeling of suspicion that he felt growing by the second. He could see behind the look she was giving him, behind her unusual lack of questions following an admission such as he'd just made, and could tell that she was turning something over in her mind. She appeared to be examining it from all sides, in that way she had of analyzing a situation before making a difficult decision. The feeling made him decidedly unsteady.

"Mrs. Hughes? Is everything alright? I hope I've not shocked you too badly with this walk into my past."

"No," she said softly, the "o" sound carrying out as it sometimes did when she was tired or feeling nostalgic. She reached out and absentmindedly patted his wrist before realizing what she was doing and quickly withdrawing her fingers. "No, you've not shocked me, exactly. Only I wonder, _why_ did you never mention it before? Clearly it had some great impact upon your life, and His Lordship has known for years so you knew you had nothing to fear on that score."

His mind created some answer that escaped his mouth, and she nodded. He'd no idea really what he'd said, because all his effort had gone into what he _couldn't_ say: _Because I care for you, Mrs. Hughes. Because I wanted to protect you from my shame. Because, in a way, we've known each other our whole lives. Because I liked you the instant I met you on that beach some fifty years ago, without knowing why, embarrassed at the thought that at the age of perhaps four you'd saved me from hurt and humiliation. Because I revisit that day often in my mind, during times my thoughts are in their darkest places. And because you're doing your best to do that again, to protect my feelings again, and I'm not sure how to handle that._

They nattered on for a bit longer, the subject having shifted into talk about the upcoming dinner party and whether or not the new kitchen maid was going to work out for the long haul. After about twenty minutes, though, Elsie couldn't stifle her yawns and she watched as he gathered their glasses and placed them on the tray.

"Good night, Mr. Carson," she said, rising from her seat.

"Good night, Mrs. Hughes." He watched her leave, realizing in that moment when she walked out of his door that he was ever so grateful that fate had sent her to walk back into his life.

oOoOoOoOoOo

"Mr. Carson?"

"Yes, Mrs. Hughes," Charles said, so grateful to hear her voice coming across the telephone line. Things were falling apart rapidly at Grantham House – they had been from the moment he'd arrived – and he couldn't wait to tell her that they'd be seeing one another much sooner than expected.

Elsie was overjoyed to hear his voice, which was ridiculous as he'd only left _yesterday_. Still, it was a pleasant surprise and she'd not deny it. "To what do we owe the pleasure of your call? I hope nothing awful has happened so soon."

"I'm afraid that Mrs. Butte has taken ill and we'll need you to travel to London." Charles tried to keep the glee from his voice, and thought he succeeded rather well.

"Oh, that's awful for her. But I understand. Should I plan to travel tomorrow? Is there anything that was forgotten that I should bring along?"

"Actually, I hate to ask but since you offered …" Charles began.

"Yes? What is it?"

"I seem to have left behind the Dickens I was reading. It's in my room, I believe, on the nightstand. Would you be so kind as to fetch one of the hall boys to fetch it? I would be quite grateful to you if you brought it with you, Mrs. Hughes, as I'd just started it."

 _Just started it for the hundredth time, more like._ "Of course, Mr. Carson. Is there anything else?"

"No, thank you. We'll expect you on the four o'clock, then?"

"Very good. Until tomorrow, Mr. Carson."

"Yes, until then, Mrs. Hughes," he said, a happy sigh escaping his lips as he hung up the phone.

Elsie shook her head, truly sorry that Mrs. Butte was unwell but secretly _thrilled_ at the prospect of going to London. As Grantham House employed its own housekeeper, Elsie was always left behind at Downton during the Season. She and Mr. Carson always corresponded regularly by post, and there was the phone call that would come mid-way through the months apart, but she missed him horribly when he was away. There was nothing to do for it, she supposed, but there it was.

Elsie headed up to pack and, seeing the absurdity in having to go all the way back down from the attic rooms to fetch a hall boy so that she could follow him all the way back up, she simply unlocked the door that divided the women's and men's corridor and went straight to Mr. Carson's room herself.

She walked through the doorway, memories of the time he'd been ill returning to her full-force. She headed to his nightstand but couldn't find the book. She was loathe to go through his drawers but figured he'd like to have the book more than he'd dislike having her search for it. She opened the nightstand drawer – no book. Top of the dresser – no book. In the wardrobe, in the dresser drawers, under the bed – no book. Frustrated, she got up off the floor and blew a piece of hair out of her face, perturbed. As she scanned the room, her eyes fell upon the trunk that rested at the foot of his bed. _It cannot possibly be in THERE_ , she thought, but she figured she may as well have a look.

Elsie opened the lid and a gasp escaped her lips. She saw extra blankets, a few trinkets, a couple of old wine ledgers that looked like they were from the _last_ butler … and, resting atop it all, a darling little doll. She picked it up, and her skin broke out in goose flesh, a shiver running down her back.

 _This doll. The beach. This is impossible …_

But she knew it wasn't. For whatever reason, clearly unknown to her, this man – this wonderful, _lovely_ man – kept coming back into her life.

 _This time,_ she thought with commitment, _I'm NOT letting him go._

She shut the trunk, took the doll, and closed the door to his room behind her.

oOoOoOoOoOo

As the car pulled up to Grantham House, Elsie held her breath. She wasn't so sure she could put forth an innocent façade, not sure she could hide the fact that she was, well, _hiding something_ from Mr. Carson. But she'd nothing to fear as the house was in a flurry of activity in preparation for Lady Rose's coming out party – cleaning, guests, planning, dress alterations, parties afterward. _You picked a good time to be ill, Mrs. Butte_ , Elsie thought. She knew it wasn't fair, though – it was probably killing the woman to miss _this_ Season. The Granthams hadn't sponsored a girl coming out for some time and had clearly never planned on doing so again. And Lady Rose was special, somehow, bringing a light to the house that only Lady Sybil had possessed before her. But the amount of work required to organize and orchestrate it all left little to no time for socializing with other staff during the first week Elsie was there. No glasses of sherry or wine, no leisurely tea mid-afternoon, nothing.

After the ceremony and the parties were over, Lady Grantham had graciously offered to pay for the staff to have a day's outing. Knowing what Mr. Carson's idea of a "good time" would be before she even had discussed it with him, Elsie put her own little plan in motion. She needed to get him relaxed, to get him away from the house, away from the staff, for long enough to have the conversation they needed to have. She didn't think he remembered having met her before, and it was going to come across as a huge shock. But, all that aside, the _pull_ they'd always felt toward one another (well, she was _fairly_ certain he felt it, too) was getting stronger every day, and if that continued much longer in that vein they'd not be able to hide it from others. Better to address it now and make a plan … whichever way it would turn out.

Elsie reminded herself that Mr. Carson wasn't the only one with secrets, that he had actually been quite forthcoming with details about himself while Elsie, certainly, had not. She was sure that no one in the house had known she was ever married, for one. Mrs. Williams had known, but Elsie had asked her not to tell a soul and she did believe the woman had kept her word. And Elsie was _positive_ no one knew about Becky. She wasn't sure which of those bombs to drop on the poor man first, but acknowledged that both had to come out in the end.

Reflecting back on their first meeting on the beach in Scotland, the feeling of ease they'd felt toward one another even then, and the way they'd slid into sync with one another at Downton from before she'd even been promoted to housekeeper, Elise felt her spirits lift.

She found Mr. Carson in his pantry and had some time to discuss his "ideas" about the outing. Returning later, she tacked up the postcard for Brighton Beach, knowing full well that he'd come around eventually.

Humming to herself, she headed out to continue her day.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Charles awoke to the sound of screams. It took a moment for him to realize where he was, but the screams had turned into moans and it took even longer to realize they'd not come from him but rather from the room next door.

 _Mrs. Hughes._

Grantham House being small, there was no divider midway through the servants' bedroom corridor; it was the job of the housekeeper and butler to keep the women and men in their respective areas, and with a smaller staff here than in Downton it wasn't too much trouble.

Before his brain could stop him, Charles swung his legs over the edge of the bed, grabbed his dressing gown, and headed to her room.

He knocked softly, hearing her thrashing about even as he stood on the other side of her door. He opened it quickly, shutting it behind him, and approached her carefully. She was moaning something he couldn't quite make out. _Gaelic, perhaps? No … wait … LATIN? That makes no sense, no one speaks Latin._ It was some conglomeration of languages, he eventually figured, and he couldn't understand a bloody word of it. He reached a hand out to touch her shoulder.

"Mrs. Hughes?" he said softly, shaking her shoulder.

She woke instantly, years' worth of being a parent and then a housekeeper having made her into a light sleeper. "Mr. Carson?" she asked in a whisper. "Whatever are you doing here?"

Charles almost laughed at the situation, backwards to the similar one in which they'd found themselves years ago. "You were having a nightmare. I could hear your screams through the wall."

"Oh. Oh … yes. _Oh_ , yes, it was _awful_ ," she said, running her hand across her forehead and down the side of her face. "A war, and then something about the woods – I _hate_ the forest, I'm not sure why, but it's always in my nightmares – and …" But she lost her train of thought then, shaking her head in frustration.

"It's alright, Mrs. Hughes. You're back in London now," he said kindly. "Do you think you can sleep again?"

She reached up and patted his hand, which he'd not realized was still on her shoulder. "Yes, I think so, thank you. I'm much calmer now, thanks to you," she said softly.

He looked into her eyes for a moment. _You need to tell her, soon._ He wasn't even sure why it mattered that they'd met before but for some strange reason, he felt it was very important.

oOoOoOoOoOo

The day they headed to the beach was bright, warm, and sunny. Elsie couldn't believe her luck. She'd convinced Mr. Carson to paddle in the water with her – _dared_ him – and he had gone along with altogether too little bluster. _Something's up_ , she thought. So she did the one thing she thought would show his true feelings: she offered him her hand. _And he TOOK it!_

The chatted about small things as they ventured out into the water, each focused more on the hand they held in their own than on anything they said at the time. After a while, Charles stood a little straighter, stopped walking, and turned to face her.

"Mrs. Hughes, I have something I need to discuss with you."

She raised an eyebrow at him, realizing she couldn't breathe at first, not properly anyhow. Forcing an exhale, and then an inhale and so forth, she nodded when she was sure she was going to be fine. "Yes, as do I, Mr. Carson."

His own formidable eyebrows rose at that. "I see." Observing that she intended for him to continue, he said, "I'm sure you don't realize this, but the day you arrived at Downton was not the first time I'd ever laid eyes on you. I've always had this feeling that I knew you from somewhere, you see, but your name didn't ring a bell and I just couldn't figure it out."

She nodded. "Yes, well, my name was different then, of course." As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Elsie realized they were absurd. "Wait, no, of course ... you wouldn't have known my name ..." She looked at him in confusion.

"What?" Charles was taken aback for a moment. _But she introduced herself to me …_

"Because I was married. The night I saw you, that man I was with was my husband."

Charles stumbled a bit, grasping her hand tighter. " _Which_ night? What are you _talking_ about?"

Elsie sighed, confused and exasperated in equal measure. "In London. I saw you outside the theater. You looked right at me, but you were so upset, muttering something about … no, I still can't grasp the name. But I _know_ it was you, I realized it the night you told me about the Cheerful Charlies act." _Wait … why is he confused about this?_

"Alice," he barely whispered.

"Yes! That must have been it! I felt that it was a woman's name but I couldn't make it out then." Elsie said excitedly. But when she looked at Charles, his ashen complexion stopped the rest of the words from tumbling from her mouth. "Mr. Carson, are you quite alright?" She couldn't believe she'd been so stupid. _Of course it was Alice. The photograph. Just how many women did you think he'd had, Elsie? THAT was foolish … you should have known._

He looked up at her, amazed at how the depth of the color in her eyes drowned out the blue of the sky and the calm of the sea. He was grasping for some life-saving security as he squeezed her hand, needing it more than ever to steady him.

"I wanted to marry her," he reminded her. "The photo you gave me, did you know?" She could only nod, still feeling foolish that she hadn't put the pieces together before that the woman from the stage was the woman in the photo. "The night I saw you, do you know if something had gone _wrong_ in the act? Do you _remember_?"

She nodded slowly. "Yes, I believe so, but I recall thinking it may have been intentional because you covered it so well. Why?"

"That's the night I found her with Grigg … in our dressing room … before the act went on." His voice faded, and she understood immediately.

"And that's why you didn't marry her. She left you for _him?_ " Elsie asked furiously. "How perfectly awful!"

He managed a fraction of a smile at her anger. "Yes, it was."

She tugged his hand, indicating with a tilt of her head that the others were heading back. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Carson, but it appears that we should go back."

He agreed, keeping a hold on her hand until they were halfway to shore.

"Do you feel steady enough?" she asked kindly.

"No, Mrs. Hughes, I don't. But there's nothing to be done about it just yet."

She nodded, and when they reached their blanket she helped him pack their things.

oOoOoOoOoOo

The next few days were spent in a haze for the entire staff. Only Mrs. Patmore and Daisy had glimpsed their heads of staff holding hands, and neither was foolish enough to bring it up. But Mr. Carson seemed to be _off_ , somehow, and they all knew better than to poke a bear.

But for all that Mr. Carson seemed _off_ as he wandered about the house, Elsie knew that _she_ was simply _glowing_. She realized she'd landed a nasty surprise at the butler's feet with her admission of having been married before and her having seen him perform on stage, and she hadn't even gotten around to the doll or Becky yet. While secretly thrilled that she'd surprised him with _something_ , which was very hard to do as well as they knew one another, she wasn't so sure that another surprise would be welcome at this time. But they'd come one more step closer to each other in this dance they were doing; this new information they'd shared was simply another thread that was tying their lives together in a way she no longer wanted to dismiss.

Charles knew he seemed out of sorts, but the problem was that he couldn't wait to speak to Mrs. Hughes, to finally get his own little surprise out in the open. He couldn't believe how quickly the conversation at the beach had gone awry! He had so many questions to ask her now, about how a young farm girl ends up in Yorkshire as a housekeeper, about when she was _married_ and why she told no one, about her husband: Did he die? Did he leave her? _No, that's impossible … no one in their right mind would leave her. Oh, my goodness … does she have CHILDREN?_

There were too many questions without answers, and Charles wasn't a man to let things go unanalyzed and unmentioned.

"Mrs. Hughes, I wondered if you might join me for a sherry tonight?" he asked hopefully as she passed him his morning tea.

She looked at him then, _truly_ looked at him, and saw something in his eyes that looked like concern, maybe even tinged with sadness mixed with a little bit of … _ah, yes, HOPE._ She nodded and smiled at him. "Of course, Mr. Carson."

At the end of the evening she made her way downstairs to where she knew he'd be waiting. She was carrying her knitting bag, as she sometime would work on one project or another while they talked. Summertime was much too hot to be knitting in her room, but below stairs it was comfortably cooler. She sat and placed the bag in her lap as he poured the sherry, joining her at the small table. They each made a silent toast, taking a sip.

"Mr. Carson, I have a confession to make. I have something of yours, something I've taken that I perhaps shouldn't have, and I need to return it and apologize, but I need to ask you about it as well," Elsie said in a hurry, thinking that if she didn't rush it she'd never get up the courage to say it at all.

He looked utterly confused, but nodded slowly. "Alright …" _What is this?_

Elsie reached into her knitting bag and removed the doll, handing it to him across the table. He inhaled sharply and his eyes widened considerably, his gaze moving from the doll to Elsie's face and back again as he reached out slowly to take it from her hand.

"I was searching for the book, the Dickens that you'd asked me to bring along – you know, the one you found at the bottom of your suitcase after I arrived?" she asked with a smirk.

He nodded slowly, lifting the doll to his face as if to kiss it. A smile came to her lips slowly as she realized what he was doing. _Oh, bless him … he's SMELLING it_. Her heart nearly broke open as her mind flashed back to the day she'd chased that fool Niall away from the shy boy she'd seen on the beach. She remembered how comfortable she'd felt with that boy from the first words she spoke – her, little Elspeth, who had never really felt comfortable around _any_ children save for Becky. Elspeth, who'd introduced herself by her full name only, trying to impress the older boy with whom she'd felt an instant kinship. The boy – the _man_ , now – who was sad to have finally met a friend the morning he was heading home. She shook her head, looking back at this stately man before her, reduced to a crumpled face and eyes full of unshed tears at the deluge of his memories and the sight of a doll. She was stunned, therefore, when he answered her so quickly.

"I remembered, you know. Before this," he said, reaching out for her hand. "I've always felt this … I-I'm not sure, _connection_ , I suppose … with you. I think it's because of this long-ago day … _Elspeth_. Elsie is a nickname, I presume?"

"Yes, my sister used to call me that because she couldn't pronounce my proper name. I've always liked it, and it was how Joe knew me as well."

Charles closed his eyes, too much in his head to process. "Your _sister_? Joe was your husband, I presume?"

"He was, and a kind one. But he died quite young and I didn't want a life as a farmer's widow, having to hire out for a farmhand because I'd never have managed it on my own. His son and I never got on, so when Peter wrote to say he'd be coming for the funeral and then wanted to move into the house I started making other plans. I knew the money as a housemaid would be steady and it _was_. It provided me a chance to rebuild my life. My sister has … certain needs, you could say, and I've had to arrange for her medical care since my Mam passed."

She left it at that and, to his credit, Charles asked no questions about Becky. "And the boy, Peter? Well, he'd be a man now, wouldn't he? Do you maintain any contact at all?"

She laughed harshly at that. " _No_ , none whatsoever, which suits the both of us just fine. He was an ungrateful boy, never deserving of the care his father's family bestowed upon him. The last I heard he had sold the farm and was living somewhere in France."

Charles hummed, thinking. "And you never wanted to marry again?"

"Well, I became a housemaid …" Elsie tilted her head. _Where is he going with this?_ After a few seconds it dawned on her that this man had just pulled her biggest secrets from her in a matter of moments and she hadn't even realized he was doing it. No one was _ever_ able to do that with Elsie, not sharp and quick as she was. But her comfort level with the butler was high, higher than with anyone she'd ever known, and she felt herself giving him everything he asked for and then some. She was mildly surprised that she didn't worry about that one bit; somehow, she knew she would be safe with him. After a minute she realized she hadn't really answered his question.

"No," she finally said. "Ours was a marriage of convenience, really. I loved Joe but I wasn't in love with him, and he was still grieving the loss of his first wife – Peter's mother. It was a good, safe life, but not something I wished to do all over again at the time."

Charles reached out and took her hand in his, meeting her eyes again in a powerful gaze. "And now? What do you want now?"

Elsie smiled at him. "I think you _know_ the answer to that, Mr. Carson." She squeezed his hand. "I have felt happy from the moment I set foot in Downton, from the day I met you … _again_ , as it were."

He nodded, waiting for her to say the words.

"Now? Now I want … _more._ I want _everything_. And you?" she asked, eyebrow raised as she worried her bottom lip between her teeth.

"Me? I want the life that has been waiting for me all this time – over sixty years. Who knows what the future will hold?"

"Who knows, indeed, Mr. Carson?" she answered, lifting his hand and turning it in hers, and placing a kiss in his palm.

 _The End_


End file.
